Death By A Whim
by Uyersuyer
Summary: A screw-up robber moves to Vice City after fleeing from Liberty City. Does he have what it takes to survive the hot beach-life of Vice City? Stop reading this summary and find out, fool!
1. Chapter The First

It was dark. Darker than any man had seen before. Darker than I had ever seen, anyway. It was so dark that I was just thrashing; thrashing so hard that...well, my covers started to tear from my pointy toe-nails.  
I decided to open my eyes. Yes! That cleared the darkness. It just happened to be dark because I was in a sleazy motel room with my eyes closed, just waking from a bone-chattering nightmare.  
I rolled over, looking at the crisp, shining new alarm clock. The only reason that was in such good condition is because I stole it from some guy down the block - there was no way I was using anything from this room. I stuck a cockroach from the floor into a socket to make sure it worked right before I used it.  
I glanced around the sleazy room, trying to find where I left the bag from last night. There was a broken TV, mostly there for decoration, judging by the bullet hole in the middle. A night-stand was right beside my bed, and a door led off to the bathroom. I was dreading going in there for my morning piss.  
By now, I bet you're wondering about what this "bag from last night" is. Well, last night, I had everything planned out. I had the plane tickets ready and everything. I got a large, black trash-bag and did it. I put on my old black ski mask, and robbed Libery City's local AmuNation. This was a horrible idea.  
As soon as the guy behind the counter saw me walk in, he pulled out an uzi and let a stream of bullets flurry all around the shop - it was like he didn't care what happened to the murchandise! I have a feeling this is due, in part, to the fact that I had robbed the place just last week, killed the guy behind the counter, and got myself on America's Most Wanted. Luckily enough, I had a good lawyer and was back out of the slammer by the end of the week.  
Anyway, as the bullets started flying, I thought fast and dived behind a shelf full of old pornos (you didn't think he made all his money off guns, did you?). After leveling off my new-found boner, I grabbed hold of a pimply-faced kid staring awkwardly back from the flurry of bullets, to the porn, and to me. I kept hold of him, even though he was struggling, until he got a bullet in the chest and he stopped moving.  
Using the boy as a human shield, I approached the counter. It was then that I realized they had put up a security measure of barbed wire between the customers and the clerk. I shoved the pimply-faced little geek through the barbed wire, while readying my glock. As soon as the kid got shredded to pieces and fell out of my way, I let my own flurry of bullets loose. One hit the clerk in the head.  
It lodged itself into his head, and exploded, leaving a hell of a mess for the janitor to come by and clean up later. I darted around the store, past all the bewildered customers, just shoving guns into my bag. I still think, to this day, that it was too easy; that he should have set off the alarm. But hey, it's only a day later, and he could have been mentally retarded.  
So the next thing I know, I'm on the plane, on my way to Vice City. I heard it was a nice place to get a good reputation going, but I had heard the same thing about Liberty, so I didn't get my hopes up.  
I hopped out of the place, and I saw nothing but a beautiful...highway. I hadn't thought about having to drive - my mind was focussed on getting my loads and loads of guns on the plane. They didn't even search my bags. They did search the old Arab woman behind me though. She died of a heart attack because of it.  
Anyway, I pearched myself by the side of the road with an uzi, waiting to take the car of anyone who didn't volunteer one to me. The first thing that came by was a taxi. I jumped out in front of the road, uzi in the air, and yelled, "GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR!!"  
The car halted, and the guy got out. I got in, and started driving down the road to my new life. At the corner, a cop tipped his hat to me. I drove for awhile, until I came to a beach. I found a rotten, run-down motel, and collapsed on it's flimsy bed. And that's where we left off, and leave once again.  
  
Until next chapter, -Jim 


	2. Black Suede Shoes

"What the fuck?" I said, looking at the clock again, but actually realizing what it said for the first time. "I set this damn thing for six o'clock!" It was ten, and it still hadn't gone off.  
"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, getting up and searching the room for a shirt and some pants. I made off with some nice khakis and a plain black t-shirt. I scampered out of that lousy flee-ridden rat-hole with my alarm-clock plunged deep into my back trash-bag of guns.  
"Here," I said, rushing down the steps and out the door, but managing to throw a fat stack of twenties toward the clerk. "Keep the change."  
I ran out the door, keeping my head tilted slightly back to see the reaction on the clerk's face. I wish I could be around to see his reaction when he found out they were fakes, but that would be way too risky. So instead, I hopped into my stolen taxi and fled from the spot, trying to find Papa's Pizza, were I was supposed to meet my connection, John, four hours ago.  
  
When I got there, I was immediately groped at the door for weapons.  
"What's in this inside pocket, punk?" asked the muscular man at the front door, feeling around the inside pocket of a jacket I found in the taxi and decided to put on. Wherever I go, I keep a loaded glock as close to my heart as possible, so it was in the jacket.  
"It's none of your fucking business, I believe," I said, smacking his hand away from my jacket. "And I'd be wise of you to get out of my way before show you what's in my inside pocket."  
"Alright, alright," said the man, clearing a path for me. I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why he was scared, but when I got in there, I saw a note in the corner booth, the one we were arranged to meet at. I went over and got it. It was written in a very untidy scrawl - an affect of illiteracy, I assumed.  
  
Jim, It's about 7:01. You were saposed to be here at 6. I'll give your ass one more chance. Meet me at the beech on the bench at about 11:30. Fuck up this time and it'll be your ass.  
  
Sincerely,  
-John  
  
His letter was so heart-warming that I decided to take a jolly old dough-nut with me to meet the bum. Only problem was, I had an hour to kill. So I put together that it was 10:30, and it took about fifteen minutes to get to the beach from here. As I pondered what to do, I decided to eat his dough-nut.  
  
I wasted some time in the diner for a little bit, flirting with the waitresses. I got the number of one - might come in handy sometime, if you know what I mean. So, I went and hopped into the cab, and went down the block a bit, trying to stay near the beach, just in case.  
I pulled up the shiny cobble-stone street, down a mucky little stretch right by the beach. I passed by the Pole-Position (a strip club that had expanded from Liberty over to Vice City) and found a nice little clothing shop. I pulled over, examined my clothes a little, and decided I could use a change of costume.  
I got out of the cab and took a quick glance at my watch. 11:00. I opened up the shop doors and was immediately spotted by a nosy little shop assistant, or whatever they're supposed to be called.  
"Hello!" he shrieked in a shrill voice that made my eyes shut with discomfort. "What can I help you with today?"  
"Well," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "The first thing you can do is get the fuck out of my way." At this, he gave me a sideward glance and walked away haughtily.  
I picked out a nice new denim jacket, so I could ditch this old rag. Then I admired my shoes for a second, and decided I could use some nice black suede shoes. I figured that was all I'd need for today, and passed the guy at the desk a stake of fake twenties and walked out, without taking a backwards glance.  
I hopped into the cab, and started her up, while looking at my watch. 11:26. I pulled away from the shop, past the Pole Position, up the street, and onto the beach to wait on the bench. 11:30.  
  
See you next chapter, -Jim 


	3. Zodiac X

I sat there for a while. I was exausted. I hadn't had much sleep in the sleazy motel, since the matress had a couple springs loose and was poking me in the back as I slept. My normal blue, deep-set eyes had gone a nasty shade of yellow, and my normally perky expression was one of tight-skinned nervousness.   
  
"Hello," said a man, slumping onto the bench and looking over at me. "Jim?"  
  
"You guessed it," I said in a rougher manner than I had intended. "Now what's my prize?"  
  
"A sharp kick in the crotch, if you don't shut up. Now, listen, I know you're new here, but we got a job for you." I leaned in closer, because he was talking quieter and quieter with every syllable. "You see, a high-profile crook named Zodiac X is on trial. We managed to black-mail all but one member of the jury. He came out of it clean as a whistle." He, himself, leaned in, his voice lower still. "X wants him dead."  
  
There was a moment of silence from both parties, in which time there was a sharp intake of breath from Jim: What would it do to his police rep if he went after a jury member?  
  
"So, nice meeting ya, pal," said John, standing up rather out of the blue, thought Jim. "I hope to see you again some day - I'll probably be at the Pole Position in two days at 5:00 PM." And with that, he left, leaving Jim to himself.  
  
But when he looked over to the part of the bench John had been sitting, he saw a piece of paper. He picked it up and examined it: Sure enough, it was in John's untidy scrawl.  
  
Samuel Parker  
  
132 Slyvan Terrace  
  
Alright, so he had a start. In the morning, he'd go to Sylvan Terrace and check this guy out. But right now, he had to find a more permanent place to stay...  
  
See you later, Space Cowboy,  
  
-Jim 


End file.
